A Song Of Suicide
by flootzavut
Summary: Tony's birthday present sets off a strange chain of reactions... Written for the At Your Service challenge on NFA. Tony whump, big time - fair warning! (Character death)
1. A Special Delivery

He hadn't been expecting anyone, so the shrill buzz of his doorbell in the middle of the horror flick he was watching was enough to make him jump, and he breathed a sigh of relief that no one had been there to see. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 11pm.

_Who the hell? _Whoever it was hadn't buzzed to be let in to the building, and he had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

When he looked through the peephole, it was a relief to see it was just Abby, which at least explained the late hour.

As soon as the door was open she bounced into his arms for a hug, then went back out into the corridor only to reappear seconds later with a huge parcel. It was large and flat, and he couldn't help laughing at the image - pigtails and eyes just peeping over the top, and huge black boots at the bottom.

"Let me take that," then, a few seconds later, "holy crap, what is this? It's heavy!"

"I know. It's for your birthday."

Tony staggered back to the living room. "My birthday's not- till tomorrow- Abs- why'd you- bring it to- today?" he managed to force out between gasps for air. Once he had it safely propped up behind the couch, he stood for a moment to get his breath back, and just stared at the enormous package. He couldn't imagine what she'd got him - with Abby it could be almost anything, and the sheer size of the thing was worrying.

"Well, I didn't want to bring it to work with me, and I wanted you to have it on your birthday, and it was in the car because I just went to collect it, so..." She shrugged her shoulders. "I hope that's OK. I didn't think you'd want to have to bring it home after your birthday drinks, either."

He grinned. "That," he said, "was a _good_ plan, Abs. So do I open it now or tomorrow, or...?"

She tipped her head to one side. "Well... I guess that's up to you. You do only turn thirty seven once, so you should probably leave it for your actual birthday. But if you want to open it now, that's OK too, 'cause then I'd get to see your reaction."

He raised an eyebrow at her. He could ask what the special deal with thirty seven was, but this was Abby, and there was no guarantee he'd follow her explanation even if she had one.

"Tell you what, you give me a lift home tomorrow night and I'll open it then," he suggested. With the size of the thing he was a little worried about what that first reaction might be. He hadn't expected to get anything, really, beyond not having to buy his own alcohol tomorrow, and a gift that big - he didn't want to hurt her feelings if it was a little strange, when she'd obviously gone all out. At least if he was a bit tipsy he'd have an excuse if he said the wrong thing. And with Abby, there was a strong possibility it _would_ be a little strange.

She beamed, and hugged him again, which reassured him he'd made the right decision. Then she spotted the paused DVD. "Halloween 8? Can I stay and watch the rest with you?"

He laughed. "Sure thing."

* * *

He didn't think about it much, that first night, when he woke at 3am. He was pretty sure he'd had a bad dream, though not, thank God, about vampires. The details had slipped away quickly, and he attributed it to watching horror late at night, with Abby speculating on how the Myers character could still be alive, and the scientific possibilities and impossibilities and probabilities of various movie villains. He'd started drifting off when she got to Hannibal Lecter and human cannibalism, and being Abby she'd made sure he made it to bed before she left to drive home, apparently still as full of energy as she had been twelve hours ago at work.

His heart was beating fast, but that didn't seem too strange on waking up from a nightmare. He checked the time out of habit, then turned over in bed, finding a cool spot on his pillow. He fell back to sleep quickly, and in the morning he didn't even remember his disturbed night.


	2. A Curious Gift

Tony was decidedly worse for wear by the time Abby poured him into her hearse, but he more or less managed to keep track of her conversation even if he didn't contribute much. For once it was a relief to sit back and let someone else take care of both the driving and the talking, and till they were back at his apartment building and halfway up the stairs (he was grateful that she was taller and stronger than the impression she gave most of the time, she made a good prop for a slightly drunken man) before he remembered that driving him home wasn't just a favour out of the kindness of her heart. As he fumbled with the key, he reminded himself that no matter how peculiar, any gift from Abby would be heartfelt. He'd find something to appreciate, no matter what.

Once they were indoors, he fell into a grateful and graceless heap on the couch, not even protesting when Abby lugged the enormous package round to lean it against his coffee table. Usually he'd've been a gent about it, but he wasn't sure he could actually get up again, never mind attempt to carry something.

She perched herself on the edge of the seat, looking nervous. "Come on. Open it! I wanna see your face."

He blinked slowly a couple of times, then dragged himself upright. "Oooooookay, whaddwe got here?"

He could practically feel her excitement vibrating through the couch as he started tearing away the paper. He was too tired and too drunk to tease her by doing it slowly, so he ripped and tore at it as if he was aiming for a personal best. It was carefully packaged, but eventually he lifted the final layer and uncovered a large, abstract photograph in a dark, heavy frame.

The picture was mostly red and black, and strangely familiar. Whatever thoughts he'd had of what Abby might have got for him, he hadn't gotten near the truth. There was a small brass plaque on the bottom, and he reached out to trace it with one finger: _Duodenum with a lye chaser - Abigail Sciuto._ She'd obviously picked out the mount and frame to match his decor, and he felt overwhelmed at the effort she'd obviously put into it. The size of it... He didn't like to think how much she must've spent, to get a picture this big framed so beautifully.

"Wow. I mean... Wow. That's... I don't know what to say."

"It's the sad end to a drano drinker. From my lab? It was your favourite, you were sad when I replaced it, and I found it, and so I got it framed for you."

He laughed and shook his head. It was that oh so Abby combination, rather odd and incredibly thoughtful.

"Wow." He couldn't quite imagine how he'd find anywhere to hang it in his apartment, but it was definitely dramatic. And probably a conversation starter, in its own way. Though he definitely wouldn't be hanging it in the kitchen or over the dining table. "Thanks, Abs, it's... unique."

"Do you like it?" She sounded worried, and he grinned at her, then pulled her into a huge hug.

"It's amazing, Abs. It'll look great in here, over the couch." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead, but as soon as he said it he realised it was true. She really had done her homework.

She squeezed him back, and when she released him the huge smile on her face told him he'd said exactly the right thing.

"I'm so pleased!"

He nodded, grateful that he'd got it right, grateful that it wasn't anything too weird, grateful that he probably didn't need to put another coherent sentence together.

She got up from the couch and looked down at him with an amused grin. She disappeared for a moment then came back with a large glass of water and a throw.

"Drink that, it'll help head off the hangover," she ordered, as she tucked him in.

He managed a nod. "'nks, Abs, yourra, a.."

She chuckled. "Drink. Sleep." She ruffled his hair. "I'll let myself out."

He heard the door click behind her, managed to force himself to take a slurp of water, and his last thought before he fell asleep was that while it looked pretty cool and was definitely unique, that picture was going up on the wall tomorrow, so that it wasn't leaning there, _looking_ at him, the next time he felt too fragile to make it to bed.


	3. A Cause For Concern

"You OK, Tony?"

Tony jerked upright, blinking. "Yeah, I- I'm fine." He swallowed the urge to yawn. "Why?" He felt like McGee had caught him in the process of falling to sleep, and if it had been Gibbs he would be in big trouble. By the looks of it Tim had brought back lunch, and Tony couldn't even remember him leaving.

"You look like crap."

"Well gee, thanks, McCheery," he snapped. "Little ray of sunshine today aren't you?"

"Tony."

He looked up, surprised by the tone of Tim's voice. Not defensive or annoyed... concerned.

"It's Monday, we had the whole weekend off. Your eyes are bloodshot and you've been zoned out all morning."

He forced his eyes to open as wide as they'd go, hoping that would somehow make him feel less like someone had slipped him a roofie. It just made his head ache worse, and he rubbed at his temples.

"I'm fine, I am-" this yawn wouldn't be swallowed, and he was gulping in air as if he'd been starved of oxygen all night.

Tim leaned over the desk and studied him. "Seriously, Tony, I'm worried about you. You haven't made a sleazy comment all morning." The feeble attempt at humour didn't hide the fact that his partner seemed genuinely worried.

"OK. OK." He closed his eyes for a second, trying to sort out his thoughts. "I'm OK, I just... I didn't sleep so good. Maybe I have the flu or somethin'." He shrugged, trying to appear unruffled. He did feel like crap, but he would be OK, he always was, he'd had hangovers worse... "I'll be fine."

McGee cocked an eyebrow, then shook his head with a little half smile. "Eat your lunch," he scolded. "And whatever you do, don't fall asleep - Gibbs is on the warpath."

"I won't." Tim didn't look convinced, but that was actually sort of comforting. Especially since the smell of his favourite BBQ joint's most delicious offering was making him want to throw up. It was always good to be reminded: no matter what, Tim always had his back.

He poked at the paper bag, wondering if it was actually possible to vomit when you hadn't eaten a thing in well over twelve hours. He felt suspiciously like today might be the day he found out.


	4. An Unappreciated Sandwich

Tony couldn't figure out how it was possible to sleep so much and still feel so exhausted. He'd fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was sure - and that had been about five minutes after he'd arrived home. Three nights in a row he hadn't had the desire to eat or to watch a film, had slept through his alarm, and yet it was barely lunchtime on Thursday and he was about ready to crawl under his desk, curl into a ball, and cry.

Tim had made no further comment about his appearance, but had taken to bringing him coffee several times a day and grabbing lunch for him without asking and without complaint. Tony hadn't the heart to tell him that while the coffee was a godsend, the food had ended up in various trashcans and, the day he'd felt good enough to actually eat some of it, down the toilet. Being sick was never exactly enjoyable, but it felt unfair when he hadn't even been out drinking and having fun.

The week had been light on cases, which was one thing to be thankful for. He usually complained bitterly about being stuck behind a desk, but even if he'd wanted to complain, he wouldn't have had the energy. He was just barely holding off a threatening migraine, and staring at the computer screen definitely didn't help, but if Gibbs came striding in to the bullpen yelling "Grab your gear..." Well, it wouldn't be pretty.

Speaking of which... He looked up slowly from his computer screen and, yes, there was Gibbs, looking down at him with an expression that on someone less habitually surly might be interpreted as concern. Clearly, Tony's Gibbsometer was on the blink.

"Hey, boss," he croaked, horribly aware that he sounded goddamn awful.

Gibbs just stared for a moment. He really _did_ look concerned, and that was not comforting. Not at all.

"You OK, DiNozzo?"

Tony summoned up all his remaining reserves of energy, and attempted to sit up straight. "I'm fine." It would probably have been more convincing if it hadn't come out 'I'm fi-hi-hine.'

Gibbs leaned over, his eyes narrowing as he studied Tony's face minutely.

"I'm fine," he managed to repeat a little more firmly this time.

The boss didn't look at all convinced. Tony attempted to look alert, awake, and not at all like he was about to throw up on Gibbs' shoes. Being stared out by Gibbs was unnerving at the best of times.

The ding of the elevator broke the silent examination, and they both turned to see McGee, takeout in tow, making his way over.

"Pastrami," said McGee with a smile as he presented Tony with the bag. "From that place you love over on-"

Tony didn't hear the end of the sentence. He was too busy running towards the restroom.


	5. An Uneasy Rest

_Maybe I really am just ill_. It would be a better explanation than any other he'd come up with. His sheets were drenched with sweat and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this bad.

Gibbs had insisted he go home, had actually driven him. Tony couldn't remember the boss ever doing something like that for him before.

He'd tried to protest, to claim he was fine, he'd manage, that he could at least drive himself, but in order to prove his point he'd had to lever himself up off of the men's room floor, and the way the room span and the last remains of his meagre breakfast attempted to leap up his throat and choke him, well, it kind of shot holes in his argument.

He'd expected the third degree from Gibbs, but the man had merely shoved a bottle of water in his hand, barked "Drink that" and then steered him out to the parking garage. On the ride home Tony had had cause to be grateful his boss was a functional mute. Each stop and start of the car, each beep from another driver, each flash of the sun through gaps in the cloud felt like someone was stabbing him in the head.

The water had helped, enough that he'd convinced Gibbs he was going to be OK and made it to the apartment complex's door without actually falling over, but it was only pride that had kept him upright. Once inside and safely out of sight, he'd banged the button to call the elevator, stumbled inside, and grabbed on to the handrail as if it was a life preserver. He'd never been so glad to get home.

He'd dragged himself to his bedroom and lay down, but he couldn't get comfortable. According to the thermometer he didn't have a fever, but he had been burning up and then shivering cold for what felt like hours now.

He should probably call a doctor or something. Unfortunately, that would involve digging through the pile of discarded clothing and assorted detritus to find his cellphone, and that... well, that wasn't gonna happen, pure and simple.

_Sleep_. What he needed was sleep. _Please_, he begged, not at all sure who or what he was addressing. He'd been longing for his bed all day, and yet here he was, restless and agitated. A couple of times he almost fell asleep, but then he'd jerk upright with a start, as if someone had called his name.

Eventually he forced himself to go dig out the whiskey he kept tucked away for emergencies like insomnia, depression and calls from his father. He was too tired to bother with a glass, instead swigging it straight from the bottle as he made his way back to bed.

By the time he sat back down, the back of his throat was stinging from the alcohol, but his mind was beginning to take on a fuzzy warmth. He screwed the top back on, hugging the bottle to his chest like some kind of adult security blanket as he curled under the sheets. It was oddly comforting in his arms, and he smiled as he felt himself finally slipping into sleep.


	6. A Rude Awakening

**_A Rude Awakening_**

When he woke at three in the morning, Tony got an eerie sense of déjà vu, even though he was sure he'd slept like the dead for the last few days. It was as if his body remembered something his mind had forgotten.

The room was dark and silent, but it felt like someone had woken him up, leaving him in that state of weary alertness that came from being jolted awake from a deep sleep.

"Who's there?" It was a stupid question, really. There was no one there, there couldn't be. Living in a safe, secure building was by design, and having really good locks on the door was no accident, either. He had to have somewhere he could relax.

And OK, it might not be an impregnable fortress, but it was secure enough that most nights he could sleep in the knowledge that anyone who got in would probably have got to him wherever he was. He was aware most people wouldn't find that very comforting, but if he had to be murdered in his own home, at least he knew his killer would be a professional. Someone who wouldn't mess around and would, most likely, send him to rendezvous with the man upstairs as fast as possible.

At any rate, there was no way someone had got in his bedroom in the middle of the night and then just stood there and watched him till he stirred.

"Ziva?" Well, almost no way. This didn't seem like a particularly good practical joke, but you could never be sure. Their tame ninja did have a strange sense of humour. "All right, McGee, very funny, you can stop now."

There was a rasping intake of breath, right by his ear. He leapt out of bed with a stream of profanities and had flipped the light on almost before he had a chance to think. There was no one there.

"Faster than a jungle cat." Absolute bladder emptying, bowel loosening fear could do that to a man.

He reached around the doorframe to hit the living room light, but everything was normal in there, too. He considered camping out on the couch, in case a change of scene would help him rest easier, then caught sight of Abby's picture. He cringed. _Maybe not._ He liked it, he really did, it was arty and nihilistic and other cool words, the kind of thing, if he was honest, he could point out to women to show how hip and groovy and deep he was (and what interesting friends he had). Tonight, though he didn't need to be seeing that swirl of black and red while he was trying very hard not to be utterly creeped out. It would be worse than flickering candlelight and a canopy bed.

_Well... I guess at least I'm feeling better._ He'd been half convinced he was dying. But a dying man couldn't move that fast. He should know. He'd had experience in that area, after all.

Apparently this time he was just losing his mind. He crept back over to his bed, looking round him as if he was expecting a crazed axe murderer to jump out at him. That would be preferable - something he could confront, deal with.

This sensation of being watched, of being alone but not being alone... He slipped under the covers, but didn't lie down, pulling the sheets up around his neck instead and pressing his back against the headboard to ward off the feeling there was someone right behind him. It didn't help a lot. As a kid, when he'd felt this way, at least he'd known there was someone in the next room or downstairs, or...

Suddenly, he really wanted his mom.

He glanced at the bottle of whiskey, his cold, hard bedfellow. It was tempting to down the rest and hope for a few hours of drunken stupor, but the wary part of him, the part that was an agent - Gibbs' agent, Gibbs' right hand man, _the boss depends on me, I gotta get it together _- refused to be a coward. He must've gotten eight, nine hours sleep after all. Sleep, fevered delirium, whatever. He could stay awake a few more hours, keep an eye out for hinkiness, figure out what the hell was going on, stop being paranoid, put his investigative skills to work.

And then tomorrow, he'd find someone who'd let him stay with them for the weekend.


	7. A Friend In Need

**_A Friend In Need_**

"Abs, where'd you find that picture?"

"What picture, Tony?" She was busy sorting through a perp's hard drive, and he would've felt bad for distracting her if he didn't feel so bad, period.

It was ridiculous, but the print she'd given him was the only thing that had changed in his apartment. This time last week (was it really only a week?), he was sure, he'd been fine. Dandy. A-okay. Certainly not sitting awake half the night with all the lights on, jumping at every sound, imagining eerie voices whispering in his ear. Blaming it on the photo was insane, but the alternative was that he was going crazy, sooooo...

"You know, the drano drinker - my birthday present."

That got her attention and a raised eyebrow. "Well... I took it, Tony."

"I know that, I mean..." He tried to figure out what he actually did mean. "I mean where's it been for the last, what, five, six years?"

Her brow creased as she looked at him properly. "You look like crap."

_Great_. "Well thanks, Abs, McGee told me the same thing on Monday, and Gibbs didn't want me to come into work today because, and I quote, he didn't want me to throw up on any crime scenes. You guys sure know how to make a guy feel good..." He knew it wasn't fair to be snippy with her, but lack of sleep was taking its toll.

"Sorry, Tony, I didn't mean-"

"It's OK, Abs. Just..." He shrugged. "I haven't slept properly this last week, and last night I thought I-"

He stopped. It was all too weird.

"What, Tony?"

If anyone was gonna believe him, it'd be Abby, but he still really didn't want to say it out loud. Regardless how you put it, "I'm hearing voices" didn't seem like something you could say and still be a federal agent.

"I..." He sighed. "It's nothin', Abs, don't worry about it."

He turned to leave and she grabbed his shoulder. It was disconcerting how off balance he was that the unexpected restraint had him banging his thigh painfully against the furniture as she span him round. "What?"

"Tony. What's going on?" She forced him to look at her, and it was clear from her expression that she was already worried and freaked out by his bedraggled appearance. "Did you say Gibbs told you not to come in? Tony, you should have listened to him, you should have stayed home, you-"

"I couldn't!" The words came out more vehement that he'd expected, and he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. "I couldn't, Abs. I was going mad there on my own, I..." Shit, there was no other way to say this. "Abs, I've been hearing things. Someone was there." Someone or something, anyway. "There's something really hinky going on."

"And you think it's my picture?"

He couldn't tell if she was offended by that or just concerned for his sanity. "I don't know, Abs! I just don't know what's going on, and I can't..."

Without warning, she pulled him close and gave him a hug. "Tony, you need more sleep."

He laughed without humour. "Believe me, I've been trying."

They stood like that for a moment longer, and then she drew back far enough to look him in the eye. "Look after yourself, Tony. We need you."

He managed to conjure up a smile. "Thanks Abs. Could you... could you do me a favour?"

"Of course! Anything."

For the first time in a week he felt actually felt himself relax, the knot of tension in his stomach unwinding a little. "Could I come stay at yours for a couple of nights?"

Her face fell. "Oh... Oh, I'm sorry. I can't - my apartment building is being fumigated, and..."

_Damn_. He tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. If he could just get out of his place for a while and get his head on straight. Get out of this paranoid fear loop he was stuck in.

"I could come crash at yours," she offered. "Keep you company? Watch a movie?"

He thought about it - for a nanosecond. "Really?"

"Really." She smiled warmly, and then threw herself at him for another Abby hug. He felt his butt hit the lab table as she hurled herself into his arms, and laughed. There was no faulting her enthusiasm, but after this week he was a little fragile, and grateful there was something there to stop him falling over.

He buried his face in her hair. She was wearing her gunpowder perfume again. It was weird but familiar: quintessentially Abby, and very comforting. "Thanks Abs."

She chuckled. "Always." Letting him go again, she gestured to her computer. "Now, I gotta get this done or Gibbs will be grouchy, so take the futon and go sleep back there." She shooed him towards the ballistics lab, giving his ass an affectionate thwack as he went.

When he got to the door he turned back for a moment. She was busy at her computer already. "Abs? You rock."

She looked up at him with one of those blinding grins that always made him feel better. "You know it."

_Thanks_, he signed - after all this time, still the only one he could reliably remember - then got himself busy with the futon. He even had a pillow - aka Bert - and the ripe fart noise as he laid his head down made him smile again. _It's gonna be OK_, he assured himself. He was asleep in seconds


	8. A Friend Indeed

**_A Friend Indeed_**

Even a few hours sleep on a futon had done wonders. It was amazing how much more peaceful and non threatening his place seemed when he was actually feeling rested and had company.

Abby was sprawled over his couch - already in her pjs, and having relegated him to the floor ("Tonight this is not your couch, it's my bed"). She was entertaining herself by poking or tapping him every time their movie marathon got a little tense, trying to make him jump. He could laugh at himself now, about how het up he'd got over a little lack of sleep and a couple of bad dreams, or whatever it was. Abby's teasing was just making him chuckle, and occasionally tickle her in retaliation, even when she did an evil laugh right in his ear.

The last film finally wound down sometimes after midnight, and Abby stretched herself out, giving a little groan of pleasure as her joints audibly popped.

"God, Abs, couldn't you wait till I'd gone before you did that?"

She gave him a look. "Don't tell me that Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo gets squeamish over people cracking their knuckles?"

He laughed. "It was the pornographic moan to which I was referring, Abigail." He put on his very best British Ducky accent, and she thumped his shoulder.

"Can't take you anywhere," she grumbled.

"That's what they all say." He levered himself upright with a few groans and grumbles of his own. "Ah, I'm getting too old to sit on the floor." He could feel every bone in his backside. "I need to get a rug or something if I'm gonna do that too often."

"You're only as old as the woman you feel."

"Was that an invitation?" He gave her an exaggerated leer.

Abby outright guffawed. "In your dreams, Tony. But it's nice to see you're back to normal. Now go to bed and let me catch up on my beauty sleep."

He pulled the throw from the back of the couch over her, and tucked it in, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep well, Abs."

"You too, Tony."

He ambled over to the door of his room, then leaned against it for a moment. Abby was already curled into a cozy ball, but she opened her eyes when she heard him pause. "I really appreciate this."

A little grin, and he saw her shoulder shrug under the blanket. "You're welcome, Tony. G'night."

"Goodnight."

It was amazing how different it felt going to bed knowing that there was someone in the next room, one door away. How much easier it was to dismiss this last week as childhood bêtes noires coupled with a virus or something.

He fell into bed with a grateful sigh. Tonight, he would catch up on sleep, and tomorrow he would put this whole thing behind him.

* * *

Abby fell asleep almost instantly, and was in the middle of a really cool dream when the screaming woke her.

It took her a minute to remember where she was, to realise this wasn't just another weird dream, and then she was on her feet and thumping on his bedroom door. "Tony? What's going on? Let me in?"

There didn't seem to be a lock, but she couldn't get the door open. She grabbed the phone, dialling with shaking fingers. "Gibbs? I'm at Tony's - I don't know what's happening, I-"

_"I'll be right there."_

She stared at the phone for a moment after he hung up, then dialled 911.

_"911, what is your emergency?"_

Tony's screams had subsided to muffled, desperate whimpering. "I... I'm not sure."

She started to cry.


	9. A Suicide's Revenge

**_A/N_**

_Fair warning, this got a lot darker than I ever imagined it would._

_If you need cheering up after reading the end of this story, I recommend "Diversion" which is a much, much cheerier kind of Tony whump..._

* * *

**_A Suicide's Revenge_**

"So... what did the doctors say?"

Gibbs shrugged. McGee recognised it as the gesture of a man who's done all he can and found that it's not enough. "Not a lot. Something about- about stress. A psychotic break or somethin'."

"Is Tony gonna be OK? When will they release him?" The message he'd gotten had been garbled and confusing. Tony didn't seem like a likely candidate for a nervous breakdown, but then... Tim thought back over the last week, Tony's erratic behaviour, the darkening circles under his eyes. Guilt settled over him in a dark cloud. He should've done more. "Boss, is he all right?"

Another shrug. He looked at Abby, who was curled into a disconsolate ball on one of the plastic chairs, her face ashen and tear stained, her eye bright red. She took a ragged breath. "He was fine. He was fine, Tim. He had a bad week, he got all spooked, I think he was having nightmares, but he got some more sleep in the lab and then we watched some movies, and he was fine. He was _fine_." She punctuated the word with a thump of her fist on the arm of the chair.

"Boss?" He really needed Gibbs to take charge right now, needed reassurance. Needed not to see this vulnerability in a man he'd grown to rely on as a rock, the constant in their little family.

"I don't know, Tim. I don't know."

McGee stared at him in confusion. "What's wrong with him? What happened?"

Gibbs finally looked up, and McGee took a step backwards at the expression on his face. Anger and guilt and _fear_. Raw. Brutal. "I don't know."

He glanced at Abby, who gave him a pinched little half smile which didn't reach her eyes. "I don't know why they rushed him off like that, Tim. I thought maybe they'd give him something to help him sleep or something, but..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "He was fine."

He sank onto the chair beside her, grabbing her hand, and they sat in silence till the doctor appeared, with Gibbs pacing back and forth in front of them like a caged animal.

"Agent Gibbs?"

The doctor's face was solemn and Tim steeled himself. He had no idea what the treatment would involve, but this was family. They'd be there for Tony however long it took.

"Yeah?" Gibbs actually looked eager, almost hopeful. Tim wondered if Tony had ever realised just how much Gibbs cared for him.

"I'm very sorry."

There was a moment of utter stillness. "What?"

"We did all we could, but with this kind of internal, chemical burn..."

"_What?_" Gibbs grabbed the man, shook him, his words forceful but coming out jumbled and slurred with emotion. "He came in here screamin' about voices in his head, what're you tryin' to say, he just got overwhelmed or somethin', doc, he just..."

The doctor was a young man, and yet Tim was struck by the expression on his face, suddenly old beyond his years, compassionate and sad, and calm, so calm, even with Gibbs right in his face. "He must have been in considerable pain for quite some time. It isn't clear how so much of the drain cleaner reached his small intestine without causing any damage to the oesophagus and stomach. For the moment, that remains a mystery. In his case, though, I'm afraid death was likely a merciful release. I'm so very sorry."

The words fell like a hammer. "Death... I'm so very sorry..." He could see the man's mouth still moving, but all he could hear was the echo of those words in his head, all he could feel was Abby's face pressed into his shoulder, her tears soaking through his shirt, all he could see was Gibbs turning a sickly shade of grey, his knees buckling and the doctor gently lowering him into a chair.

Nothing, nothing, would ever be the same again.

_~FIN~_


End file.
